Adventures of an inter-height marriage

Once upon a time, before his mission, Peter was in Seattle and I was in Austria and we Skyped all the time. This was the first time that my parents really got to know about Peter and how close we were. One time I mentioned that I had made a short joke in teasing Peter, and my dad laughed saying,

"Well, he's still taller than you!"
"haha, no he isn't!" I responded.
"He's not?" my father asked, a little confused now.
"No."
"Oh."

At this point I continued on with whatever I had been doing or talking about, but about 20 minutes later, after being silent for that time, my father asked,
"So, he's shorter than you?"

This kind of conversation became very common place once Peter was on his mission and I would mention I was waiting for him to people who knew us.

"Peter? Peter?" they would ask, usually gesturing with their hand somewhere near their shoulder and parallel to the ground
"Yeah. Peter."
"Oh... uh..." they would respond, and almost invariably, "is he, um... shorter... than... you?"

This kind of statement would strike me as funny because of the way it was asked, almost as though they weren't sure if I knew Peter was shorter than me, and that perhaps enlightening me to the reality of the situation would somehow change everything I felt about him.

"HE IS?!" Maybe I'd yell. "THIS IS BRAND NEW INFORMATION!! EVERYTHING I KNOW IS A LIE"

Meanwhile in Japan, Peter was having the same conversation with anyone he discussed me with. Well, whether I'm taller than him that is.

Not to belittle the turmoil or stress of homosexual youths coming out to those they love, sometimes, in introducing ourselves as a inter-height couple, I felt we had a similar amount of pressure and societal expectations to overcome. Especially in the way that people just didn't seem to know what to say about the situation when they first found out.
"I'm in love with a man. A short man."
"What? Really? Since when? How much shorter is he than you??" - said everyone ever.

I am 5"5' and Peter is 5"3'. This hasn't ever struck me as a bad thing; I fell in love with Peter as he was because he was my best friend and my life was so much better with him in it. I have no regrets in the world in regards to our relationship. However, I do have a plethora of really funny anecdotes.

This last Christmas we flew to stay with my parents. The airline had messed our seats so we weren't sitting together, so Peter charmed the gate attendant to change our tickets to the only open ones on the plane - an exit row. As we loaded into our seats a steward was waiting across from us.
"Uh..." he stammers, watching us, "I just need to check, but, uh, are you two over 15?"

Later that same trip Peter, my sister Sharah and I went to a trampoline house. You have to sign a waiver in order to jump, and you have to be over 18 to jump without a chaperone. While Sharah and I signed up no problem, Peter was approached by a worker and IDed.
"I'M AN ADULT!" he later vented to me. Sure you are, my sweet.

I'd like to believe that people think that we both look incredibly youthful, but the reality is, it's just Peter. On Mother's day Peter found me nine precious puppies to play with. The seven year old boy who lived in the house with the puppies came out and talked to us while we played. He was particularly interested in working out who we are and what our relationship was.
"Do you live with your parents?" he asked us.
"No, we live just us together." Peter said,
"Is she your sister?"
"No."
Turning to me he asked, "are you his mom?"
"No, I'm his wife."
"His wife?" He repeated, looking very perplexed and demanding from Peter, "But, how old are you? You're too little to be married!"

Oh, great, kid, but I'm big enough to be his MOTHER?!

One Saturday Peter came back from doing the laundry walking like a dejected Charlie Brown.
"A little kid just asked me if I was a kid or an adult," he told me, as I tried not to laugh, "I said I was an adult, and he told me he had a friend his age who could pick me up."

While the struggle is real, and people (including our sister in law) like to ask us how we kiss, ("like, do you have to stand on your tip-toes??" "No, Peter has a special step stool.") I love and adore my husband more than anything else in the world and he is my perfect man. Plus, it means hiding presents or food I don't want to share is super easy (the cupboards over the fridge are far too high for him to reach). Those fruit snacks are all MINE, Perter, and you KNOW IT.

I vow to always take the high road.
Get it? Heuheuheuhe